Babysitting
by Strangely Tawny
Summary: Oneshot. Bors wants a romantic evening with Vanora. But who can he find who's mad enough to babysit his children? My first foray into 'King Arthur' so please be kind!


**My first 'King Arthur' fic' – I place all blame at the feet of the producers and gorgeous actors who inspired me to write it. (Sadly they still haven't handed over the necessary paperwork making Tristan and the others mine, despite my repeated pleas).**

**I tried my best to make this funny, but I can't be sure if I succeeded – so just let me know if it didn't make you grin and I'll refrain from attempting comedy again. **

**Oh yes, and a HUGE shout out to **_**Gargoyle13**_** whose encouragement and wonderful fics prompted me to finally put pen to paper. **

**UPDATE: Big hugs to _Wanderer of the Roads_ who helped me with the grammer. It's fixed now, I swear!  
**

*************

"What do you mean '_no_'?!" Bors roared at the cringing Galahad. The curly haired knight whimpered but tried valiantly to reassert his case,

"I'm not going to babysit your little bastards," he wailed, "last time you got someone to do it she said that Gilly bit her and Two set her skirts on fire!" Bors looked murderous,

"That's why I'm telling you to do it! A Sarmatian Knight's far better equipped to deal with them than one of Vanora's girls."

"A Roman legion would be hard pressed to deal with even one of them!" Galahad ground out, face turning redder by the minute, "I understand why you want a romantic evening with Vanora but this is too much for one man!"

Bors was about to bellow again when a sudden genius thought struck him with a sledgehammer. His breathing evened out, and his face returned to its usual ruddy complexion, rather than the dangerously crimson hue it took when his blood pressure sky-rocketed towards an aneurysm. Galahad stilled, wary of the sudden perilous calm.

"…What?" he said suspiciously, Bors raised his eyebrows and smirked in a way that just screamed trouble.

"Oh nothing, I think I've got the perfect solution. See you later." And with that mystifying statement, the older warrior lumbered off, leaving Galahad bereft of speech in the Training Quadrant.

---

Arthur couldn't believe his ears.

"Bors, I know I owe you my life several times over and possibly even my firstborn but that doesn't mean I'm entirely willing to go along with this madness." Bors raised an eyebrow, causing his scar to wrinkle and pucker.

"But you won't be alone – you'll have all of your brave knights behind you, that's part of its beauty." Arthur rubbed his face, defeated.

"And you can guarantee that we'll all get free drinks for the rest of the month?" he said, Bors nodded frantically, practically sweating with fear at the thought of Vanora's reaction if he said he couldn't find a babysitter. But then he grinned because Arthur's face automatically set itself to 'Resigned to Dreadful Fate'.

"On the house," Bors confirmed and clapped his commander on the shoulder.

"Then I suppose I'll have to go inform the knights of their duty," said Arthur, and he stomped off to find his brave, brave… extremely unlucky knights at Vanora's.

---

"Knights…" he said in _that_ tone as he seated himself at the Round Table, having called a secret meeting between all his men, save for Bors, who was granted a head-start before they set Tristan on him.

The Sarmatians all braced themselves. For they knew that tone. It was the tone that held only bad news – the suicidal mission sort of bad news. Lancelot was the first to speak up.

"What now Arthur? Has some Roman lady lost her little puppy again?" the others snickered, remembering all too well how that fiasco had panned out.

"No-no-no, let me guess," said Gawain tossing back his hair as he leant his forearms against the tabletop. "Another imbecilic missionary from Rome has been captured by the Woads and it's our job to save him." Arthur shook his head again,

"If only it were that simple." The knights really paid attention now; for Arthur to admit that this undertaking was more dangerous than deliberately marching into a Woad stronghold, well, it had to be truly dire. Seeing the expectant, wary looks on his knights' faces, Arthur blurted it out in a rush.

"We-must-babysit-Bors'-little-terrors-for-a-whole-evening." Utter silence met this garbled statement and then suddenly they all began to shout at once. Galahad slammed his fist onto the table, overturning his chair as he leapt to his feet.

"I knew it! I knew he'd think of something as devious as this! And to think he said it was a 'perfect solution' – I'll kill him!" Gawain stared at Arthur in horror.

"Have you taken leave of your senses?" he thundered, "I would rather face an entire Saxon hoard naked and covered in tar and feathers than take care of those demons."

Tristan froze, his face became a waxy mask and he looked positively ill. Of course there was no getting away from it: orders were orders. He didn't say a word, for his very active imagination was already supplying visions of the hell they were about to willingly enter. Dagonet actually didn't seem that worried – leaning back in his chair he crossed his tree-trunk-like arms and sighed,

"I don't see what the problem is. They're just a bunch of kids." He rumbled good-naturedly, the others looked at him uncertainly.

"A-are you sure we're talking about the same group of children?" Galahad said darkly, pouring himself some more wine to steady his shredded nerves. Lancelot looked grim.

"I think the dress code will be full armour and heavily armed," he said, already wondering if chainmail would be preferable over plate armour.

"And we'll lay some boobytraps to keep the little beggars at bay long enough to barricade ourselves in Vanora's storeroom." Gawain said, warming the plan.

Arthur stood and shouted for silence, the dissent reduced itself to grumbles and mutters about 'never seeing home again' when the half-Roman began the nigh impossible task of bringing his knights to order.

"We _won't_ be wearing any armour, and there's _no __way_ we're taking sharp pointy objects anywhere near the children. But," he added. "We _are_ getting paid," insinuatingly, he picked up his goblet and waved it about.

"What do you mean… paid?" Tristan spoke up for the first time, "We're being given money for this?" Arthur shook his head, smiling slightly now.

"Better than that, we have free drinks at Vanora's for a whole month." Gawain shook his head admiringly.

"You sly fox, Bors must've been truly desperate." Arthur looked almost gleeful as he sat back down again, confidant he had his knights' attention now.

"He looked like he was going to cry." Lancelot laughed.

"Well with an offer like that I'm sure I'll be able to drown out the nightmares with my payment." Dagonet tried to put his case forward again.

"They're really nice, really…" he began but Galahad shook his boyish curls.

"They dyed my best shirt with woad!" he cried, "I had blue nipples for weeks!" Tristan smiled and Dagonet look dubious as Gawain and Lancelot roared with laughter. Arthur was clearly scandalised and cleared his throat.

"Galahad that's not the issue here…" the youngest knight pointed a threatening finger at his commander.

"Just you wait, they'll ruin your only decent toga if you're not careful."

"You… have a _toga_?" Lancelot gasped, a predatory gleam in his eye as all the knights suddenly swooped on this new bit of information. Arthur glared at Galahad, who realised his mistake and wisely stayed out of it.

---

After he'd been thoroughly ribbed for owning a 'pansy Roman dress' Arthur had called for his men to prepare for the oncoming mission, which, he informed them with a certain degree of sadism, was that very night.

They had all retreated after that, muttering wrathfully and threatening to do some creative laundry of their own.

While in his quarters he was approached by a very cheerful Bors.

"I'll cancel the debt on your firstborn for this Arthur." He said smilingly, "Vanora's already fighting with her hair and complaining about what dress to wear. I've even been made to wash." Arthur cautiously sniffed the air and realised that Bors actually _did_ smell of soap. Not his usual pungent stench of sweat, ale and testosterone.

"I'm impressed. But you'd better hold your end of the bargain – it was all I could do to prevent weapons being brought into your house." Bors seemed to ignore such a hint and rubbed his hands together in anticipation of the 'date' he'd set with Vanora.

"Well, I'd better go and find some flowers – Dagonet said it'd be a nice idea." And off he strolled, looking like the free man he wasn't.

---

"So…"

"Hmm."

"Yes."

"Quite." There was a long silence. And the door rattled on its hinges and there was an almighty thud, followed by disturbing laughter.

"Who'll go first?" Arthur said suddenly as their stared at the entrance to Vanora's dwellings. Trepidation was written on every face as they edged slightly closer, fingers grasping for weapons that weren't there.

Dagonet made a small noise of amused exasperation, and moved away from the safety of the group,

"Ok then." He said, but none of them missed the way his mouth had tightened at the corners. He stretched out a hand and cautiously opened the door which swung inward. It was utter darkness beyond the threshold and he glanced back to the others, "What-?" he began when several small pairs of hands reached out from the gloom and dragged him in. Dagonet disappeared without a sound.

And then the door shut with an ominous boom.

There was a moment of horror-struck silence.

"Does this mean we've got to go in and rescue him?" Gawain said, knowing that it was their solemn duty to save him.

"It looks like it." Galahad said in a slightly high-pitched voice.

"On three we'll all rush in together, maybe we'll take them by surprise." Lancelot said, preparing to leap _away_ at a second's notice.

"Sounds good." Arthur agreed and the warriors edged forward again, right up to the building itself.

"One," Tristan started, looking grim.

"Two," Gawain supplied, unable to keep the wobble from his voice.

"_Three!_" Lancelot cried, wrenching the door open.

"_RUUUUSS!!_" They all screamed, diving into the building. And were met with a scene out of Arthur's hell.

Poor, trusting Dagonet was cemented to a chair by many small, grubby bodies, all of whom were speaking at once. The huge gentle giant looked utterly defeated as Gilly proceeded to poke Dag's shoulder while demanding in a very loud voice that the healer knight listen to _him._ A smaller boy was wrestling the knight's boots off, and several more were running around and around the chair shrieking and shouting like some army of midget monsters.

"'Just a bunch of kids' huh?" Lancelot quoted, with a grin. Dagonet – not above using bad language – swore at him foully in the Sarmatian common tongue.

"Language," Gawain corrected automatically, hauling three girls of varying age off of his brother-in-arms. But then he made the fatal mistake of setting them down again once they'd been torn off Dagonet. The girls immediately rounded on Gawain and grabbed his arms.

"Come see our room! Come see our room!" They shrieked, Gawain looked at his commander imploringly, but Arthur shrugged.

"That seems like a good idea actually. Take Tristan too." The scout looked like Arthur had just told him to eat his own hawk. But after a muffled whimper from his long-haired comrade he sighed, clenched his fists, and turned his face to the heavens, praying to some unnamed higher power to be delivered from his crazy commander and the nonsensical tasks he set him to. Then he allowed Six and Eight to grab his callused hands and drag him into an adjacent room. Realising what unspeakable tortures were about to be inflicted upon the two, all the other girls charged into the room after them, all shouting and arguing at the top of their lungs.

Arthur turned to survey who was left: the boys still had Dagonet pinned to the chair and were now asking lots of questions about fighting and Woads.

"Alright!" Arthur bellowed above the cacophony, "Who wants to play a game?" all heads turned to him.

"ME! Me-me-me-me-me-me-me!!!" they all yelled, all swarming off Dagonet as if magnetically repelled and clustering around Galahad, Lancelot and Arthur.

"Alright, go find a ball and we'll go play in the courtyard." Arthur said, noticing that Dagonet was now standing next to a cot where a baby was caged. '_If only it were that simple,'_ he thought, perusing the grubby faces all looking up at him with undomesticated glee. "Galahad, you're with me." he said, earning glares from both his second in command and the baby-boy of the gang.

"Arthur," Galahad said quietly, as the boys scampered off to prepare for the game. "You realise that due to all the rain that courtyard is a swamp?"

"Yes," said Arthur casually. "The mud should tire them out."

"And what about us?" Galahad said,

"Well we'll get a bit grubby I suppose." That remark was later classified as the understatement of the year. And so they set to work engaging the boys in a melee type of game invented by some Celts in Gaul. Two goals were set up at opposite ends of the bog-like courtyard, and everyone proceeded to fall over into the slimy mud at least once. The half-Roman commander and the Sarmatian knight were bedraggled team captains and the competition became fierce and alarmingly brutal for small semi-feral children and two grown men who should have known better.

That left Dagonet with the very small toddler and two infants. One of the infants' lower lips wobbled dangerously as Dagonet placed Vanora's youngest in his muscled arms.

Lancelot held the baby at arms' length as if it was about to explode, his face a mixture of disgust and fear.

"Dag…" he said slowly as the pink squirming thing in his hands began to whimper.

"Hold him close to you." Dagonet said, wrestling the shrieking toddler into her cot. "Put him over your shoulder, like a saddlecloth." He advised, seeing how Lancelot and the baby continued to eye each other with intense mistrust. But slowly, ever so slowly, Lancelot propped the baby over one shoulder and walked over to Dagonet who set about with a broom to clear up the house.

"Need a hand?"

"I doubt you could spare one." Dagonet said sweetly just as the baby vomited down Lancelot's back. The ladies' man looked like he was about to cry. He'd already sacrificed an evening with some buxom wenches, but to be puked on by someone who wasn't even a highly intoxicated Galahad was just the salt in the open wound.

"Gaaargh!" he yelled, wrenching the baby away from him and holding it at arms' length again, while trying desperately to look over his shoulder to inspect the damage. Dagonet chuckled as the baby – not feeling peachy to begin with, and now outraged at being manhandled – began to wail.

"Dagonet _do_ something!" Lancelot screamed, and fearing for the baby, Dagonet plucked it from the shouting knight's grasp and placed him on the table. Handing Lancelot a cloth, he pointed to the baby.

"Clean yourself up and then check him – he might need changing." Lancelot eyes boggled.

"'Changing'?!" Dagonet nodded.

"That's probably why he's feeling so grouchy."

"Why can't you?" Lancelot, Slayer of Sons, whined, mopping at his hip with the cloth.

"Because it's an important skill to learn, especially once you claim all your bastards from the tavern wenches."

"Low blow,"

"I never said I approved in the first place." Lancelot glared at his friend and turned back to the wailing baby.

"So what do I do?" Dagonet wondered aloud if he was being deliberately thick. "Am not!"

"Then get on with it." Muttering about how much he despised Bors, Lancelot gingerly made an inspection.

"Eeeew! Oh! Ugh! The _smell_!" he had turned vaguely green, "What are they _feeding_ him?" he howled, "Dag! I need a new one!" Dagonet would only allow his friend to be tortured so far and so passed him a fresh nappy before settling down with a spoon and some gruel to feed the toddler.

Several curse-filled minutes later, Lancelot completed his heroic ordeal and picked the baby up again, putting it across his other shoulder. While Dagonet had successfully managed to feed the little tyke, and cover the floor, walls, himself and even the ceiling with the half the gruel.

"Fatherhood becomes you." he remarked, seeing Lancelot humming to the baby, a look of remarkable satisfaction on his face.

"Sod off." Dagonet ducked his head to hid the grin as Lancelot actually began to softly coo at the baby. And all was peaceful – if excruciatingly noisy – in the room.

---

Meanwhile in the girls' dormitory, Gawain and Tristan were praying for a swift death. The blond knight was sitting on a very low stood, his elbows on his knees as the pack of girls played with his hair.

Tristan was likewise trapped, and huffed, causing the ribbons and garland of flowers being braided into his hair to tremble gently. Two smacked his shoulder surprisingly hard,

"Don't move," she commanded for the umpteenth time. Tristan made a wounded noise in his throat.

"It's a pity Arthur expressly forbade us to hurt them." Gawain said in Sarmatian as the girls tugged their combs ruthlessly through his hair, a lot of the tangles and snarls were mercilessly pulled out too – eliciting pained grunts. But he'd never let the enemy know his prayers for clemency. His hair had been un-braided, scented and combed before being re-braided with ribbons and flowers.

Both knights were considering falling on their swords if anyone saw them. Bound by the horror of their situation they had silently sworn to each other that they'd never breathe a word of what had happened to any living soul. The girls squeaked and chattered as they played 'dress-up', while their victims sat in mutual numbed silence praying for Bors' swift return.

---

"Well woman, I'd say that was a good evening," Bors said, putting an arm around Vanora's waist. His russet-haired lover smiled and leant against him.

"That was a magical evening darling," she said slipping her small hand into his huge scarred paw. They walked back through the gloaming in contented silence, enjoying the late evening. But as they walked down the alleyway to the courtyard they heard an angry bellow from Arthur.

"That's treason! I'll have your head for that you Sarmatian dog!" Arthur would _never_ say something like that. Ever. With a face like thunder, Bors gave Vanora a quick squeeze and charged off for the square, Galahad's outraged shouts echoing down to him.

"Well perhaps you'd like another mud-bath!" There was a loud, rather rude sounding squelch and Arthur produced a noise akin to a wounded bullock, and then there was Galahad's crow of triumph and Gilly's tinny declaration of war.

Bors rounded the corner at top speed, mud spurting up under his heels, and saw an extraordinary sight:

About four mud gremlins wrestled with each other in a melee-like mass. Bors recognised Three when he was thrown clear and landed near his feet.

"_Artorius!!_" Bors screamed, hauling Three up by his collar and holding him aloft like a trophy, "What in the seven hells is going on here?!" Two much larger mud trolls suddenly froze. The more slender one sitting on the bulkier one's chest, and pushing mud into his face, leapt off and stood abruptly. It was only then that Bors managed to discern by torchlight Galahad's features under a layer of black mud. Then a set of white teeth appeared in a splitting grin.

"Bors! You're back!" Slipping, squelching and stumbling, Galahad made his way over to his fellow knight. "Did you have fun?" Bors was about to answer when Vanora's voice pierced the air.

"What are you _doing_?" she cried, running over to her sons who were trying to help Arthur to his feet. He was spitting out a mouthful of prime topsoil and certainly nothing like his usual calm, extremely neat appearance.

"We lost the ball and then Gilly made a remark to Five who took offense and threw some mud…"

"And it all sort of went downhill from there." Arthur mumbled, standing up. All six of them appeared to be melting as Bors surveyed them grimly.

"Boys," said Vanora in a voice of doom, "I want you all to strip and by the fire while I prepare a bath for you." Ignoring the shouts of protest she allowed a smile to play on her lips as she surveyed Arthur and Galahad, who looked like they wanted to die of shame. "I suppose you two had better wash as well, but I won't be able to fit you both in the tub as well." Galahad laughed.

"Don't worry Van' we'll hit the officers' baths."

"Let's go get the rest of the men," Arthur said, "I won't leave them in hostile territory without any chance of rescue." Bors laughed as they made their way through the boggy ground to Vanora's house.

"I wonder who looked after the baby," Vanora said as she pushed the door open, and let out a soft gasp. There, sitting in Vanora's chair, dark curls falling into his closed eyes, was Lancelot, with the baby protectively clutched to his chest. Both were fast asleep.

"Sshh." Dagonet admonished from the hearth, where he was cleaning up the last of the gruel from the floor. The toddler was also asleep in her cot, snuffling contentedly into her pillow.

"Dag'," Arthur whispered. "Everything under control?" A look of astonishment crossed Dagonet's face as he perused his commander and fellow knight now turned two-headed mud troll.

"What have you been doing?" he hissed, fighting the urge to laugh out loud.

"Never mind that, where's Gawain and Tristan?" Galahad asked, Dagonet pointed to the girls' dormitory.

"I haven't heard a word from them in hours." He remarked, "You'd better go rescue them. And you're clearing up this mud when you come back through." Even Arthur knew not to disagree with that tone.

And so, lead by Arthur and Galahad who left a trail of mud behind them like a pair of snails, the four carefully approached the room, where they heard the twitterings of Vanora's daughters.

Then, putting a muddy mitt on the door, Arthur pushed it open.

What they saw had them reeling back in a mixture of horror and hilarity. From the shoulders up, both Gawain and Tristan looked like bearded flower bouquets adorned with ribbons. They were sitting cross-legged on the floor, with the girls all putting the final touches to their masterpieces.

"Oh!" Vanora gasped, dissolving into giggles. Bors' shoulders started to shake while Galahad laughed so hard he was clutching at his sides, bent double as he leant against Arthur, whose lips squirmed as he fought so hard not to chuckle – mindful of the sleeping baby next door.

"This," Tristan informed the group in the doorway icily, "is the fifth round." He looked like he could guarantee there wouldn't be a sixth. Gawain looked like he wanted to cry.

"I think they've managed to tear out about half." He remarked. But when he saw Bors opening his mouth to speak his hand shot up, "Don't say it."

"Don't say _anything._" Tristan added, abruptly standing. The girls immediately started to complain but a fiery look from their mother silenced them. They knew they were about to hit the rapids of the River Trouble. Gawain leapt to his feet, and gingerly tugged at a large lily stuck behind one ear. It came free leaving a trail of orange pollen in his beard. Tristan grimaced as he pulled his crown of flowers off and shoved it into Bors' chest.

"I don't care how many free drinks I can wrangle out of you – it's not enough to repair what happened in this room." And with that the scout swept past them, pausing only to eye Arthur and Galahad.

"Rather you than me." Galahad choked out, grinning like a lunatic.

"I think you might have enjoyed it actually, Baby-Boy. Flowers, ribbons, combs – it was right up your street." Gawain snapped, seizing Tristan's arm and dragging the bloodthirsty looking scout away from their friends. "Now if you'll excuse us, we're leaving. I'm sure Bors can take over." And the two bolted from the house at a dead run.

At the sound of the slamming door, the baby woke up and began to scream. Which in turn woke Lancelot up.

"Who slammed the bloody door?! Don't you know I've just managed to get the baby to sleep?" He roared, standing and gently jiggling the infant against his shoulder while looking for the culprits. Arthur and the others appeared from the dormitory just in time to see the baby throw up down Lancelot's clean shoulder. Bors couldn't hold back the laughter any longer, which prompted Galahad to join in, while Arthur looked to Dagonet for an explanation.

"That's the second time the baby's been sick. And he had to do a nappy change." Unfortunately Galahad heard that too.

"A nappy change?"

---

Soon enough they were all allowed to flee the house, and in the cool night air, Arthur turned to his three remaining knights: Dagonet was covered in gruel, Galahad in mud, and Lancelot with vomit. Only Galahad looked vaguely amused.

"Where's Gawain and Tristan?" Lancelot asked sullenly, causing his mud-covered comrade to dissolve into giggles again.

---

The next day was the Sabbath, and so it was a day of rest. Not that the pagan Sarmatian knights were really bothered, but it gave them an excuse to kick back and relax for a day. So all the knights had fled the dreary fort and walked to the nearby river for a swim and picnic.

"So… garlands eh?" Lancelot asked Gawain, who splashed at him.

"Shut up, look who was found covered in puke and sounding like a mother hen when the baby woke up?" With a furious snarl, Lancelot proceeded to dunk Gawain thoroughly. Galahad, who had spent a miserable hour in the bath houses with a squadron of soap cakes and several sponges on Saturday night, was now lying in the sun – unwilling to bathe until next year. Dagonet was fletching some arrows with Tristan, who hadn't spoken since he'd fled Bors' the previous night.

And Bors? Well he was sitting silently under a tree on the opposite bank nearer the fort, and he was fully armed. For he was well aware that his comrades would like nothing better than to exact some horrible revenge upon his person.

Meanwhile at the fort, Jols rummaged through the huge communal wash basket until he found Bors' best tunic – the one he had worn to his romantic evening with Vanora the previous night. Grinning like a madman, he stuffed it down his shirt and sneaked away, a bottle of woad in his pocket.

As Arthur would have said, his God moved in mysteriously sneaky ways when it came to cosmic justice.

*************

**And there it is! I'm sorry it's so weird. The plot bunny practically gnawed off my foot. It was really funny in my head – I don't know how well it translated onto 'paper'. **

**Please review - you'll make my day.  
**


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